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THE THIRD EGLOG.
Rowland and Perkin both Ifeere, in field vpon a day,
VVith little Robin redbrests Round, doe passe the time away.
Perkin.
ROwland for shame awake thy drowsie muse,
Time plaies the hunts-vp to thy sleepie head,
Why li'st thou here as thou hadst long been dead, foule idle swayne?
Who euer heard thy pipe and pleasing vaine,
And doth but heare this scurrill minstralcy.
These noninos of filthie ribauldry, that doth not muse.
Then slumber not with foule Endymion,
But tune thy reede to dapper virelayes,
And sing a while of blessed Betas prayse, faire Beta she:
In thy sweete song so blessed may'st thou bee,
For learned Collin laies his pipes to gage,
And is to fayrie gone a Pilgrimage: the more our mone.